The Sword of Glorfindel
by seeing-spots
Summary: This is only a snippet from my next story. I want brutal reviews to make this small part of a scene even better. Elrond gives Glorfindel a gift.


DISCLAIMER: I own none of these characters. I am only borrowing them.

A/N: This is just a snippet of my next Glorfindel story that was too good (in my opinion) not to share. It is rough, though. I want brutal opinions and people to ask questions. It will help when I write the story itself. I'm missing a bit at the beginning of this scene because I don't know for certain how it starts. Please bear with me.

THE SWORD OF GLORFINDEL by Jessie Syring

Glorfindel's eyes widened as the weapon was presented to him. It was of very old design, the blade more curved than modern weapons. The light reflecting off the blade gave it a slightly golden sheen. The nearly black wood of the hilt followed the curve of the blade and was bound with brass. Glorfindel raised his eyes to Elrond.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper.

"King Thranduil sent it. It was found in the lair of a spider in Mirkwood."

With a hand that trembled slightly, Glorfindel took the sword. "It is a House sword," he said, a single tear sliding down his fair cheek. "So few soldiers survived the fall of Gondolin, I didn't think any House weapons still survived."

"Nor did I. Many of the people who survived the fall of Gondolin died in Eregion so---" Elrond spread his hands, leaving the last unsaid, and took a seat. "There is an inscription on the blade."

"'_Morkirith, megil o Glorfindel, i 'alad dan fuin_.'" Elrond raised an eyebrow in surprise. Glorfindel said, "I know my own, Elrond. The sword was crafted for me when I became chief of my House." He took a deep and somewhat shaky breath. "But I don't understand."

"Perhaps it was found when Gondolin was sacked---" began Elrond, but he already knew how impossible that was.

"It should not have survived the fight!" Glorfindel got to his feet suddenly, turning away from Elrond to stare out the window. "You know the songs, Elrond. The eagles brought the charred cinder that was my body out of the chasm. Burned by a beast already dead. Nothing could have survived the flames."

Elrond chose his words carefully. "A sword is not flesh and bone."

Glorfindel snorted. "I thrust that very sword into the heart of the flames. Do the books tell you that, Elrond?" he asked, turning to face the Half-Elf. "Do they tell how I shoved my sword down the Balrog's throat to kill it even as it slew me?"

"No. The stories passed on by the survivors varied greatly."

The golden-haired Elf stared out the window again. "They were terrified. _We_ were terrified. All we knew was dying around us. The defenders from all twelve Houses were dead or dying, save the few commanded to cover the retreat. Every foul creature that could be mustered chased us into the pass."

Glorfindel returned to his chair, not meeting Elrond's gaze. Elrond picked up the wine bottle and filled two goblets, sliding one across the desk to Glorfindel. The young-old Elf ignored it as he picked up the sword and studied it, running a finger lightly along the blade and tracing the words.

"Stories of valor don't tell how exhausted you get from fighting and the dread of more combat. How it feels to see your friends die. Of wanting to just give up but knowing everyone will die if you do." Glorfindel turned his gaze on Elrond and said, "Dying is not glorious, Elrond. I remember how the heat was so intense I could scarcely move. The stench of my own hair burning filling my nostrils. Being unable to draw breath for the blood filling my lungs. The sound of my neck breaking. It is not the stuff of heroes."

Glorfindel suddenly took the glass of wine and downed its contents in two quick swallows, setting it down heavily. Elrond felt shaken himself as he filled the goblet once more. He had been at Eregion and fought in the War of the Last Alliance where his friend and king had died, but none of his experiences had prepared him for Glorfindel speaking so calmly about dying.

"You have never spoken of the fall of Gondolin, my friend," said the dark-haired lord, "nor have I asked."

"It is not a memory I like." Glorfindel picked up the goblet and took a deep drink. "The wine doesn't help. I can't get drunk enough to forget."

Elrond's face was lined with compassion and concern. "I beg your forgiveness then, Glorfindel. I did not realize this would be so painful for you. If you'd like, I can return the sword to Thranduil."

"Ecthelion never could understand why I preferred a weapon with so much curve to the blade. And I never could understand it myself, except it seemed to feel more...correct when I wielded it. He was the only one who could best me in combat. And he took great joy in it." Glorfindel raised his eyes to Elrond. "It is a good sword."

"That the sword survived and was found would seem to indicate you are meant to have the sword."

"I'm not sure I like having the Valar taking such personal interest in me." A ghost of a smile crossed Glorfindel's pale features. "But I am sure that, somewhere, Ecthelion of the Fountain is having a great laugh at my expense. And who am I to deny him that joy?"

Glorfindel finished the wine in his goblet and rose, holding the sword with a familiar grace. Elrond stood as well and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Glorfindel, I am sorry for the memories I stirred up," he said sincerely. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Glorfindel paused. "I think it helped to talk," he said at last. "I will sleep well tonight."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

TRANSLATION: The inscription on the sword reads "Morkirith, sword of Glorfindel, a light against darkness."


End file.
